


Braavos Is For Lovers

by kingsnow



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Half-Sibling Incest, Set in Braavos, alternate season 6, gotsecretsanta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-16 13:43:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16955142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingsnow/pseuds/kingsnow
Summary: Tired of fighting, Jon and Sansa run away to Braavos to get warm. They take new names, find work as common folk, and struggle with a forbidden attraction to each other.





	Braavos Is For Lovers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acourtofhopeanddreams](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=acourtofhopeanddreams).



> I’m not good at au’s set in other universes, but you said you like fairytale au’s, so I decided to give Jon and Sansa a happily ever after. As requested, no porn, though there’s a lot of lusting. Hope you like it!

 

_ “Where will we go?” _

 

_ “Somewhere far away from here.” _

 

_ *** _

 

Even after all these years, the people of Baravos still wonder about Cat and Ben. In many ways, the young couple was not out of the ordinary. Braavos was full of young people looking for something better and hoping to make their way in the world. 

 

“They’re highborn,” a sellsword in Ben’s company tells his wife. “You can tell in the way they talk and hold themselves.”

 

The sellsword’s wife tells her friends at the well, and word gets around. The wives’ of Ben’s men at arms take an interest in Cat. In truth, they would have taken an interest in her eventually. She’s beautiful, with big blue eyes and inky black hair. It’s dyed, of course, but that is not unusual in the free cities. They assume Cat is covering mousy brown hair, or maybe blonde hair that would betray her identity. 

 

It does not take long for the people who pay attention to them to realize that Ben is really Jon Snow, the murdered Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch who had raised from the dead and fled. That bit of gossip was well known in the Free Cities for it had inspired a song of vengeance that had caught on for a season or two. 

 

“She must be a nobleman’s daughter,” a woman remarks to the sellsword’s wife as they do their washing together in the kitchen, rubbing their husband’s tunics against a washboard in soapy boiling-hot water. “Westeros is a mess, they’ve been at war with each other for years now. After he took his vengeance maybe he came across a maid in need and decided to free her of that place.”

 

“Lucky for her if he did. Half of Westeros is on fire now. I don’t think there’s any noblemen left.”

 

They two of them were much better off in Braavos, all agreed on that. Some did not agree with their wives’ conspiracies though. Romantic nonsense, they called it. 

 

“If that girl was a nobleman’s daughter, do you think she’d be content with the likes of us, sewing silken smallclothes for a courtesan?”

 

That was the one problem with the theory. It didn’t make sense when you met the two of them, not really. Perhaps Ben really was the ghost of Castle Black. He certainly acted like he was half dead most of the time. His cold face revealed nothing, even to the men he spent his days with. But despite how well spoken Cat was, she was kind and warm and far too happy living a life of poverty to be the lost princess they imagined her to be. And when Ben was with her, he didn’t seem like the same man at all. He smiled freely as soon as she was in sight _. _

 

***

 

The life Jon and Sansa have stolen is a simple one. Sansa spends her days sitting in front of an open window and the sun warm on her skin. She stitches together smallclothes for the Black Pearl, the most famous of Braavosi courtesans. Jon is a guard in the employ of the Iron Bank. The rooms they found to live in are at the top of a five floor tenement. It must have been a beautiful building a few hundred years ago when it was built, but half of it has sun back down into the sea and the rest of it is as dilapidated as anywhere in the only quarter they could afford to live in. They are poor, it is true, but for the first time she can remember, Sansa was happy.

 

When they arrive in Braavos, they were both broken. Neither of them had a lot left to give, and yet they tended to each other’s wounds with kindness and patience. She was prone to nightmares that made her relivewhat happened at Winterfell. Jon was never woken by them, for he slept like a dead man, but his presence next to her in their narrow bed was reassuring. She thought she’d never trust another man again, but her long-lost brother and fake husband proved her wrong. 

 

They settled into a pattern: Sansa woke first, because she hardly slept at all, at least during that first year. She dressed and walked down to the street. She bought fresh fruit and pastries with whatever coin she could find in Jon’s pockets, and brings them back to their little flat. Before long, people knew her name, and they asked her how her husband was doing and she asked them the same in turn. By the time she returns, he is dressed and on his way out the door. Like clockwork, she passes him a pastry and an apple, and he smiles at her. Later, after time has passed, he began to give her a kiss on the forehead too.

 

It did not take Sansa long to realize she enjoyed being a married woman, and when she talked to people she couldn’t help but smile when she refered to her husband, the handsome Westerosi sellsword, Benjen Snow. 

 

Petyr had taught her that the best way to tell a convincing lie was to believe it to be true yourself. Jon made that easy, with his kind gestures and soft eyes. In her heart, it didn’t feel false that the two of them were man and wife. She didn’t dare say anything about it, for she knew it was the wrongness of everything that had happened with Ramsay that had turned her into this creature mistaking familiar love for something else. And yet when she could, she pushed at the edges of their bond, almost without meaning to. 

 

It didn’t feel wrong, even if it was all an illusion. She was well aware that it could not last, ut the lightness of it all was soothing balm to her aching heart and it was hard to push such sweetness away.

 

The women of Braavos asked her about Jon, even the Black Pearl. “He’s quite the fighter. Who taught him?” she’d ask over tea.

 

“I don’t know,” Sansa would respond with a shrug, though she was well aware that Jon was taught by Ser Rodrick Cassel and her father, along with her three other brothers. Only, nobody asked about Jon, at least not straight out, they asked about Ben, her husband, and Ben was still a mystery to her. “I must confess we’re still newlyweds.”

 

The Black Pearl smiled at that, “oh, I see how it is.”

 

The knowing look in her eyes made Sansa blush, and she was still blushing by the time she returned home. It was easy to pretend to be Jon’s wife when he couldn’t see how happy the idea made her. But sometimes it felt too real when he was there, it didn’t feel like a game she was playing anymore. She was no longer pretending to be Alayne, and Cat was hardly a mask at all. 

 

***

 

By the time Jon returned home from work a night many moons later, he is tired. He settled into their one-room flat as he always did. Sansa was not home yet, so he thought nothing of loosening his clothes and falling into the bed they share half dressed. The heat was killing him, and he was already feeling the wine that his employer had given them all to celebrate Braavos’ Festival of Lights, their tribute to freedom from the Valyrians. He fell asleep, and does not wake until he hears the door and instinctively pulls the cotton blanket around himself to hide his exposed chest from her view. 

 

He’s not sure why he does it anymore. In the eyes of everyone they know, they are Ben and Cat, a married couple. They did their best to play the part in public too. The Braavosi smallfolk were affectionate, and it would not do to be cold to one’s new wife. It was not hard to pretend, either. Jon refrained from kissing Sansa properly, but he did not shy away from pressing a kiss to her cheek, or her hand, or her forehead. They would often walk hand in hand through the streets of Braavos once they’d both finished work. They played their parts well. They had no true friends, but there were people in their lives, and they would ask when there would be a baby. “Soon,” Sansa would say with a smile, though she never met Jon’s eye when she said it. The woman who lived in the flat beneath them had given them a mixture of herbs to drink before they made love, and Jon had taken it with burning cheeks and a forced smile. He said nothing, for it was better that they think him barren than a liar.

The main problem was, at least for Jon, it was no longer playing a part. He had awoken several times with her in his arms, and it took a minute for him to remember that she was his sister and not his lover nor his wife, and to release her from his grip. When he gazed at her, it was no longer for anyone else’s benefit, but simply because he could not help himself. 

 

“You’re in bed already?” Sansa asked, setting her basket on the table. “I’d hoped we would go see the fireworks at midnight.”

 

“It’s been a long day,” Jon said.

 

Jon felt Sansa’s eyes sweep over him. “You’re not sick are you?”

 

“No, just tired.”

 

Sansa walked over to his bedside and rested the back of her hand on his forehead. “You feel fine. And you look well enough to escort me to the celebrations tonight. I may no longer be a lady, but it would not do for me to attend without my husband. What would people think?”

 

Despite himself, Jon’s heart sank. For a sweet moment he had thought that she’d wanted him there because she wanted  _ him _ . 

 

“I made a dress for it,” Sansa said. 

 

There’s something almost flirtatious in her voice, and Jon has to clear his throat before he responds. 

 

“Oh?” Seconds passed by slowly, and Jon wondered if he was imagining it. Perhaps he’d been fooled along with everyone else. “I didn’t know you were working on anything.”

 

“Do you want to see it?”

 

“Alright.”

 

Sansa disappeared behind the translucent screen that had come with the apartment. It had belonged to the previous tenant, a whore who had gotten married to a merchant and had left the apartment full of things. Sansa oft undressed behind it when he’s home, but he always averted his eyes, because in the candlelight he could make out her silhouette and he doesn’t want to tempt himself. He already lusted after his sister, he needn’t make the whole thing worse and add fuel to his dreams. But tonight he can’t bring himself to look away. Sansa lays each item of clothing she takes off over the screen so Jon knows when she’s naked.

 

“I made it with some castaway silk, the Black Pearl had no use for anything imperfect. So you don’t need to worry about the cost,” Sansa said from behind the screen. In truth, Jon didn’t worry about the cost of anything. Jon found it hard to look beyond the next day now, let alone save and prepare for the future. If it made Sansa happy to have a dress of cloth of gold, he’d make sure she had it. But Sansa never asked for anything. 

 

Finally she stepped out from behind the screen. Her dress was a deep blue that brought out her eyes, and the silk was tissue-thin, as was the fashion in the humid heat of the Free Cities, but something Jon was still getting used to. There weren’t many girls on the wall, and the women he’d had chance to see were clad in thick wool, and were nowhere near as pretty as Sansa.

 

“What do you think?” Sansa asked, catching his eye. 

 

The silk shone translucent, and in the candlelight it was not difficult to make out Sansa’s nipples, or the spot of dark hair between her legs. Jon’s heart skipped a beat when he realized that she must’ve caught his gaze lingering on her body. Based on her knowing grin, she could tell what he’d been thinking.

Jon cleared his throat. “I suppose we’ll have to go now.” He did not mean it though, for the thought of anyone else seeing Sansa in such a state of undress made his swordhand twitch. And yet he could hardly be alone with her like this, could he? Just the thought was agonizing, and there was to be no thought of giving into temptation.

 

“It would be a crime to waste a dress so pretty,” Sansa agreed. You’ll have a good time, though. We’ll get to see their Festival of Lights! It’s just what you need to get out of your winter funk.”

 

“You’re southron, truly, Sansa, if you think that  _ this _ could get me into a winter funk.”

 

“I’m as northern as you, brother,” Sansa protested. 

 

Jon said nothing in response, he merely reached for his boots.

 

***

 

As they left home, Jon grabbed one of her cloaks from it’s hooks and put it over her shoulders, covering her new dress in a thin layer of wool.

 

“I thought you liked the dress,” Sansa protested, searching his face for some indication of the lust she’d hoped to inspire in him.

 

“It’ll get cold when the sun sets and you’ll be glad I put you in that coat.”

 

“The whole point was to be seen.”

 

“What if I don’t want my wife to be seen like that?”

 

Sansa exhaled. She smiled, and pressed her lips to his cheek. “I suppose I’m duty-bound to obey my husband. I’ll just wear it for you, then.”

 

Jon groaned, but said nothing. He rushed her out the door, not speaking until they reached the alehouse they often dined at when they couldn’t be bothered to cook and had some spare coin.Sansa’s favourite part about being Cat was how completely ordinary she was. She was a beautiful woman, and sometimes men would call out to her or approach her, but most knew who Ben was and didn’t dare. Nobody lusted after her for anything more than a night of pleasure, nobody sought to use her for her birthright. 

 

They eat well, though even after more than a year even mild Essoi food is still spicy to her. Vasarra, who lives across the street from them, had told her that hot peppers were a known aphrodisiac, but Sansa doesn’t feel aroused by the burning sensation. Jon never seems affected by anything. 

 

The room was smoky, and once they’d finished eating the bar wrench brought Jon a thick cigar with the bill. At first the smell of tobacco had bothered Sansa, but it’s grown to be a comfort. It reminds her of happy nights spent here, or else wandering along the canals under a canopy of stars. 

 

Before Jon can light his cigar, Sansa pushed the thin cloak off of her shoulders and extended a hand to him. “Dance with me,” she said, fluttering her eyelashes.

 

“I’m not one for dancing,” Jon replied, though he did take her hand in his. 

 

“I could ask one of the other men at the bar, I suppose,” Sansa said.

 

Jon stood then, and let her to the dance floor. Sansa never doubted that he would, for she knew how to get her way with him. 

 

“You’re not cold?” Jon asked, clearly desperate for her to put her cloak back on, despite the fact that half the women in the room were dressed just like Sansa was. 

 

“You’ll keep me warm, won’t you?”

 

Jon grumbled something Sansa couldn’t make out, but he took her in his arms anyway. To her great surprise, Jon was limber on his feet, perhaps even more graceful than she was. Though she supposed it made sense, for he was a famed swordfighter, and they both involved footwork. Sansa herself was never much of an athlete. She didn’t much like getting sweaty. Though, the thought of getting sweaty now… she swallowed. Vasarra had told her once that men who were good at dancing were good in bed, and she’d merely giggled, refusing to tell her friend how Ben was in bed. She’d had nothing to gossip about, after all. Now Sansa wished she did. 

 

“Jon… I…”

 

She wanted to tell him how she felt, and it’s not the words themselves Sansa struggled with, it’s how Jon would see her if this was all in her head. She knew he would not leave her, even if he was repulsed. But she didn’t think she could bear giving up the closeness that had grown between them. 

 

Was it too much to ask that he be the one to move first? She wanted him to take control.

 

***

 

They dance for a quarter of an hour, and as Jon held Sansa’s waist he was ever-aware of how close his hands were to Sansa’s skin. He had to fight the thought of sinking to his knees, bunching her dress around her waist and pleasuring her in front of everyone here. If he had it his way, he would march her home and they could forget about all of this, and how close Jon had come to pushing the boundaries of this reckless infatuation, and yet, this is what Sansa wanted, and he was terrible at refusing her. 

 

Jon doesn’t respond to her, he merely pulls her from his chest and spins her around. It gives him a moment’s relief, but soon she wasflush against his chest again and staring up into his eyes. 

 

He couldn’t be certain who made the first move, but everything works together for one perfect moment, and their lips brush against each other. The kiss is gentle at first, as though they’re both trying to make sure it’s okay to push in this direction, but then it’s a mess of tongues, and their hands are grabbing at each other’s hair, pulling each other close. All around them the dancing continues, but their feet stop. They stay like that, kissing each other as though it’s for the last time, even after the fireworks begin and everyone leaves the alehouse to gape at the sky.

 

They don’t see the fireworks that night, but there will be other years for Ben and Cat.

  
  
  



End file.
